


Beautiful Demons

by veridium_bye



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, F/M, Femslash, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-23 09:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16156313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veridium_bye/pseuds/veridium_bye
Summary: Scout Lace Harding returns to Skyhold to see an figure of her life back home in the Hinterlands alive and well, and it's not exactly casual tidings. Naomi, a former Circle Mage, turned Rogue of the Mage Rebellion, and now a Inquisition Healer on parole for her sensitivity to demonic influence, finds herself on the precipice of change in her life: does she grab life by the shirt collar and live it while she can, or does she hold herself separate from its tumult to protect herself and those around her? How will Harding being put in her path change her outlook? Whatever happens, it surely won't be boring.





	1. Tent Relations

The words tracked through her brain as she cleaned her hands of the blood and fluids, the crimson shades reminding her of what it had felt like to see through her eyes.

_“If you display any behavior or activity that suggests you to be corrupted finally by demons, then we will have no choice but to take immediate action. Our hands are tied, Inquisitor. She is a danger to everyone around her.”_

Rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. The textures of it all, the feeling of loss and life drained.

_“She can recover her defenses! I have seen it, she is strong enough!”_

Wiping stains, more pressure to get into the creases of her skin.

_“A Mage that has proven prone to spirits cannot be treated like the rest. She will be monitored. That is all I can do.”_

The Commander had proven more generous than she had expected him to in allowing her to stay and service the Inquisition, though the constant watch or one or two guards hardly made her feel fully at home. It felt good to be of use again, no matter the parameters; and returning home to the Hinterlands alone would have been worse for her condition than remaining there. Magic or no magic, no one wishes to go back to the place where they watched their Husband die, the one person whom you trusted to keep you safe and help keep the life you had built intact.

Those days were gone, dead along with him. There was no sense in returning.

This workday was particularly lively; a contingent of scouts and personnel from Emprise du Lion had finally come back to Skyhold, dropping off sick and injured for proper treatment. Naomi had quickly proven herself to be one of the more capable and practical Mage healers in the Fortress, though she liked working in an egalitarian role alongside others. Whilst her friends Olivia and Veronica were quickly climbing the ranks in their respective areas, she was content to do her work and do it well without notoriety.

As she watched the small grouping of Inquisition scouts meander their way to the tents, she finally rubbed the stains off her hands and readied herself for more work.

“Naomi,” a voice from behind her spoke, prompting her to turn around to look. It was another Healer, Hera, who she had lightly befriended in her short time posted to the infirmary.

“Yes?” she replied as she watched her approach quickly.

“Can you handle the Leiutenant’s treatment? I’m afraid Lyila needs extra assistance with one of the scouts. He got an arrow shot through his thigh, of course,” Hera handed off a wooden box of supplied pre-set and measured for triage, a look of impatience on her face.

Naomi smiled and took the items from her. “Sure, and my sympathies to you in advance for what you’re about to deal with.”

She nodded as Hera made her way to another tent farther down the line, and with that, she turned her attention to the task at hand. The Leiutenant? That was an ominous regard. Perhaps he was so well-known that everyone could refer to him with his title; that would suggest a personable nature, which would lead her to hope this would be an easy time.

“Nicolette?” She asked another Healer, walking out of her tent, “Where is the Leiutenant being kept?”

Nicolette smirked, a face of being inside on the joke, whatever it was. She pointed to the tent at the end of the line, open but with no activity. Naomi waved her thanks and made her way down to it, expecting someone lightly wounded with the looks of the supplies she was given. Rounding the corner edge of the tent hide, her eyes widened as she saw no one other than Lace Harding, a familiar face of freckles and red hair, wearing nothing but the underlayer that had been underneath her armor. She was sitting on the edge of the cot, looking mighty impatient with the situation.

Stepping forward, Naomi couldn’t hide the surprise on her face.

“Lace? Is that really you?” she asked.

Harding turned her look, and what once was indignance for her situation turned into a mirrored shock. “Naomi? What on Earth…”

“I didn’t know you had enlisted with the Inquisition? Oh my goodness, how have you been?” Naomi entered the tent now, gathering her dress in one hand to lift out of her footpath. She came to face Lace and where she sat, before lowering herself to sit on her folded legs on the ground.

Lace grinned smartly, watching as Naomi set the box of supplies on the small corner table nearby.

“I did as soon as I could. Didn’t you ever wonder why so many people never returned from the Conclave?”

“I…I suppose I assumed they perished. It was less painful than hoping they would come home some day,” Naomi admitted, resting her hands on her thighs. “What brings you to the infirmary? I was told you were injured.”

Harding scoffed, rubbing the back of her head. She hadn’t expected someone she had known to be tending her injuries, and she was now unable to be as dismissive of her conditions as she wished to be.

“I got a gash on my thigh, from a misstep during a skirmish. It’s no big deal, I was just bossed into this.”

Naomi smirked. “Bossed into caring for yourself? Such autocracy here. Now, let’s get to work so you can be done here.”

Harding sighed roughly, and without fuss she reached for the waist of her breeches and lowered them down. Naomi rose to her feet and went to the tent opening, promptly lowering the hide down so as to make it more private. No one needed to be seeing spare skin from any ranking members of the forces, and the mountain chill was also an unwelcome sensation.

Returning to her patient who was now laying flat on the cot, she returned to her position on the ground, grabbing a cloth from the box and taking a look. The gash was red and surrounded by bruised tissue – she must have taken quite the stumble. While it wasn’t too serious, it seemed to be fending off infection. Naomi’s eyes were soft with a care and attentiveness as she laid the linen lightly across the wound, planning out the protocol in her head.

“I never took you for a clumsy woman, Harding,” Naomi teased with a sly grin on her lips.

Harding rest with one arm back behind her head, the other resting on her abdomen. She was feeling the heat in her face; self-consciousness wasn’t a common feeling for her, especially when it came to the dirty business of being a Scout prone to injury and wounds. But, Naomi’s presence was a curve ball, and not one that directly threatened her life – that meant she had room to be insecure.

“I…” Harding chuckled, “I think I’m allowed to be imperfect sometimes.”

“Around here? Where women are exalted as Andraste’s Chosen and supernatural assassins? Hardly,” Naomi smirked as she dabbed another piece of clean linen with some antiseptic solution. “It is so unbelievable to me that we would meet like this! Why didn’t you send word?”

“I suppose I assumed someone can’t leave the Hinterlands without the villages hearing some way or another. It’s that small-town charm,” Harding sighed roughly, keeping her eyes on the roof of the tent. As Naomi began to gently clean the wound, Harding felt a light sting, but it wasn’t anything to cry about.

“Ah, okay. Heath and I did live on a rather remote end. I can see where the news would get lost in the mail.” Naomi’s heart cringed, mentioning her late husband in conversation. It had been months since she watched him die, but it still haunted her. Though, with each passing day, it became more enjoyable to bring up his memory.

“Yeah, you two weren’t much for neighborhood antics, if I recall. How is Heath, is he here, too?” Harding’s voice picked up with anticipated excitement. Seeing not one, but two people from her home would be a solace like no other after so many months abroad.

There was a pause, wherein Naomi withdrew her hands from tending to her wound. Collecting her hands on her lap, she looked down at the ground. Her pursed lips gave away the bittersweetness that would come from her answer. Harding noticed the hesitance, and tilted her chin towards her to see her face of sorrow form.

“Oh…I…”

“No, it’s alright. He…he was murdered, by traveling Venatori agents. It was a few months ago.” Naomi recollected herself, blinking once to bring her mind back to the present moment.

Harding felt her throat get stiff, picturing the last time she saw Heath and how happy he looked. He had been spending all day tending to their garden, and Harding was meandering by with her family’s sheep, taking the back trail home from the grazing land. Whenever she came upon their home, Heath and Naomi were always together, tending to the same tasks side-by-side. It was always so picturesque, their life together. Sometimes she wondered just how amazing it would be to find something like that for herself, but life had other plans.

“I’m so sorry, Naomi,” Harding sat up, feeling a need to make up for her conversational misstep.

Seeing her move, Naomi quickly corrected her mood. “No, no, Lace, it’s fine. I have mourned for my loss. Besides, I have so much to do it hardly seems like a waste of my time to think of my past ever so often,” she busied her hands with preparing a bandage laced with a healing powder substance. Watching her task, she kept her eyes away from her company, to save herself the embarrassment of letting onto emotions she did not wish to divulge.

“Naomi, I…” Harding watched her, trying to find some way back to the cheerful conversation they had been having before Heath was brought up. “I don’t know what to say, except, it was really good to see you. You’re the first person I have seen from home that isn’t dead, or displaced, or upset with me for leaving.”

Hearing her words, Naomi managed to grin. “Angry? Whatever for?”

“You know how it goes. Family, friends, people afraid for your safety. That sort of rubbish.”

Naomi gasped a soft laugh. “Are you absurd? You are supposed to be cared for, Lace. That is hardly a crime. Now, sit back a bit, so I can compress this without making it too tight that you can’t feel your leg at the end of the night.”

Naomi held out the bandage, ready to be rolled around the circumference of Lace’s thigh. Harding did as she was told, endeared by Naomi’s carefulness; she lifted her thigh and bent it at the knee, exposing her thigh for the bandage application. Naomi went to work wrapping without much ceremony, her hands soft and gentle but wielding a firm bandage hold. It was rumored back in their village that Naomi’s hands were Healer’s hands imbued by angels, because whenever people had children who were injured or taken ill, they would not take them to the Healers in the main village or up in Redcliffe. They would take them to her, and she would never have a tear shed or cry shouted from any of them.

Now, Harding saw just what nourished that reputation.

“Oh, Maker, Hera seems to have forgotten the clips for the bandage,” Naomi sighed, her hand one free hand searching through the box of supplies whilst the other held the bandage secure. “Agh, such forgetful minds we have.”

“Does this mean I’m doomed to a premature death?” Harding joked, resting back on her elbows.

Naomi choked back a laugh, looking around the tent as if she could magically find the tool she needed most. “Not yet, Harding. Not while you are in my care,” she replied. “Oh! Well, I suppose…” she then reached her hand up into her bun of thick black hair, fingers twisting and pulling on something that had held up the heavy weight of her locks. At last, she pulled out the hair pin she had put in place that morning. It was a worn, old gold pin, with what looked like a moth made of stained glass at the end of it. It was weathered, but beautiful; clearly it had been a gift from someone, or something bought with a romantic idea in mind. Naomi had few sentimental belongings from her past, and it was definitely one of them.

But, now, it had a higher calling. She reached and hooked it onto the bandage at once. She smiled, relieved that it seemed to fit well enough to hold the bandage linen in place.

“Well, looks like you have a hint of style to your injuries, Harding,” Naomi complimented, lightly patting her on the thigh before withdrawing her hands to clean up her supplies.

Harding’s eyebrows raised, watching as Naomi adorned her meager bandage with a hair pin that looked as though it belonged in the hair of a Goddess. Her eyes caught the way Naomi’s hair fell out of her up-do, the long, thick, ring curls of charcoal black gathering over one shoulder. So, she had kept her hair as long as it had been back in the village. Harding remembered staring at it whenever she saw her walking through the village main road, shopping or dropping off healer’s aids. She always wore it down, it seemed, and people used to gawk at how soft and lush it looked.

“Uh, thanks. I’m certain I won’t get shit for it in the barracks,” Harding teased, sitting upright fully in her cot.

“If you do, you can make up some story about how some girl who fancies you gave it as a token for your championship of the Inquisition’s cause. Use that imagination of yours,” Naomi smiled, tidying up the last of her tools and bottles. She grabbed either side of the box and pulled it into her lap, then looked at Olivia with an expectant look. “Now, is there anything else you need before I return to my duties elsewhere?”

“I, uh,” Harding hesitated, not sure where one could go from being tended to for injuries to trying to be charming. “Well, I’m sure there’s more to catch up on between us. Why don’t you come get an ale with me at the tavern tonight?” She felt a light simmer of butterflies in her stomach. Harding didn’t do this often, or much at all, nowadays. But what exactly was “this” to begin with? Why was she feeling so shy all of a sudden, when it was just an offer to socialize?

She saw Naomi’s expression soften a bit, her smile waning. Her heart slowed along with it.

“Oh, I would, but…I don’t drink.” Naomi shrugged to make it seem casual, but she knew why she didn’t. She knew what it was to risk her condition with alcoholic intoxication: if she felt particularly sad, or angry, or emotional, drinking weakened her mental strength. And with that, there was weakness. It wasn’t exactly proven that such behaviors could make a Mage more susceptible to the demons that haunted them, but Naomi chose temperance for good measure anyway. She knew what was at risk, and she wasn’t about to be foolish.

“Ah, I see. Well, you could…eat…bread?” Harding tried to salvage the proposition, but the execution was a bit rocky.

Naomi smirked, watching as Harding struggled with herself. “I do like bread, but I bake my own. Remember all the loaves I would bring to the neighbors?”

“Oh, yeah! I had a bit of your 7-grain spiced bread once, it was the best!”

Naomi laughed, “I am so glad you enjoyed it! It was one of Heath’s favorites, too.”

A bittersweet aura in the air loomed as they exchanged smiles laced with laughter. It was weird for Naomi, still, to say things about Heath in the past-tense. But, so was most everything about her life: weird, unexpected, and surely unbelievable.

“Those were good times. If you ever wish to have some, I can bake it for you. I know you spend most of your days abroad, though.”

“I do, but…I would like that. A lot, actually.” Harding pulled her legs around to sit off the edge of the cot again, nearing herself to Naomi by sheer proximity. They looked at each other, both with pairs of renewed shine in their eyes. This was good, to have someone who knew you before the time of war and loss. They both felt the solace in the space.

“Good, I will make it tonight, along with my others. Be sure to stop by the kitchen in the morning before you leave. You will have a breakfast of champions,” Naomi smiled broad, nodding once before she finally rose to her feet, tucking the box between her hand and her hip.

“Well, Leiutenant Harding,” she said with an endearing humor in her voice, “I must be off. Maybe I will see you at supper in the Hall?”

Harding stared up at her, seeing now her full frame once more. She was really there, flesh and blood, and not some fever dream onset from her infected wound. Not that dwarves could dream, anyway, but she had a hunch Naomi was the closest experience to the real thing.

“Yeah, I…well, I usually get meals with the men in the barracks, but. I can stop by. Thank you, Naomi. You’re a lifesaver,” she smirked, lips parting as she gave one of her light smiles.

In return, Naomi chuckled. “Lace, I am hardly a master for patching up a gash. Hopefully I will never have the chance to prove to you my life-saving abilities,” Naomi tilted her head. “Farewell, and be careful. Come back before you deploy, so I may care for you again.”

“Care for me? What, why…?” Harding’s brow furrowed as she exhaled from bashfulness.

Naomi’s brow raised in return, and she gave a crooked, confused grin. “Tend to your wound, Lace. You know, that one, on your leg?”

Harding’s mouth made an “O” shape, and her eyes quickly flickered down to her bandaged thigh. Oh, shit, right, that one. That was what she was referring to. What a fool I’m acting like. She’s probably rethinking any idea she had of me being smart and capable. Lieutenant? Right, believable.

“Oh, shit, right. I’m so sorry, it’s been a long day.”

“I believe it. Well, rest well, then. Maybe hold off on the rounds of ale,” Naomi gave a slight wave with one of her hands holding the box, before she took her leave, letting the curtain to the tent fall behind her so as to give Harding some continual privacy.

Watching her go, Harding felt her chest decompress. Naomi, of all people, had to be the one to show up to her infirmary tent. Was this some sick joke from Leliana’s people? Did they track down whatever diary entry or witness to Harding’s admittance to having a crush on the Farmer’s wife all those months ago? Because if so, her pay was definitely in need of an upgrade. She almost expected a crowd of laughing colleagues to be awaiting her on the other side of the tent curtain. But, there was no gag, and this was no prank.

Naomi was here, and a widow. The Maker worked in the most ridiculous of ways.


	2. You Have Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harding has found herself hip-deep in old memories of her crush on Naomi, though many things have changed since her days at home staring at her neighbor's beautiful wife, wondering where she could find someone like that to fall in love with. Whilst she busies herself with reminiscing, Veronica pops the bubble of her innocent opinions on Naomi, leading her to have more questions than answers. A fireside chat with Naomi leads to better understanding, and yet, more heartache to deal with.

It was a hot day, but typical for the season. Autumn in the Hinterlands was a sight to see: the way the leaves changed, and the cascading hues of reds and oranges overtook the valleys and mountainsides. It never got old, well, except for when it stormed for two days straight and left every walking path muddied beyond help. Lace was thankful for the dryness as she hiked with her family’s sheep, another day of tending to house chores and animal noises being the theme music to her existence.

She came to the crest of the hillside, just down the road from the Mason farm pasture, and she knew she was about a mile away from home. She let out a chirping sound, calling to the sheep who knew what it meant when she ordered them around. Waving her staff between her thumb and palm, she guided them alongside her, keeping quietly to herself otherwise. The processional had to slow down, though, once she spotted two figures on horseback coming up the road.

The horses were bay and tall – they looked like those from the Mason’s stables. Maybe they were coming back from town, she guessed.

She slowed her progression down the road, the figures becoming larger to her now, and able to be identified. One of them was wearing Heath’s hunter green traveling cape, roughly sewn with wool and fleece on the inside. He uncovered his head from the hood of it, and it looked like he had a broad smile on his face as he rushed over to his accompanying rider, a smaller figure in comparison. The cloak, though, was what she first noticed: it wasn’t familiar, and it was a honey brown hue that she hadn’t seen any of the Mason family wear.

The figure unhooded themselves before dismounting, and revealed a thick gathering of black, curly hair over their shoulder. Her dark skin was shining in the early evening sun, luminescent almost. Lace found herself infatuated at the drop of a hat – where did this person come from? Surely she would have remembered being introduced to such a woman.

Watching with keen eyes, and a snail’s pace in her step, she watched as the woman laughed being brought down back to the ground in Heath’s strong arms. She had been riding side-saddle for her gown’s sake, it looked like. The two embraced, then, a joyous hug that seemed to clue into a celebration of some sort. Heath’s eyes then caught a glimpse of his neighbor approaching, and his smiled broadened, pulling away from his woman to greet Lace.

“Lace! How fantastic to see you. Come I want you to meet someone!” he waved a hand in the air to flag her down.

Lace smiled politely, wanting to cover for her eavesdropping. She walked up to the pair, staff making contact with the ground every couple steps as she did so. The sheep became more nebulous in shape, but they nevertheless stayed loyal to her and remained in the general proximity.

“Hey, Heath. What’s all the hulabuloo?” she replied with a gentle teasing.

Heath chuckled, his flaxen hair tied up in a bun. With the chilling season, he had begun growing his beard out, and it was starting to really take shape. It matched his broad, farmer’s boy build.

“Can a man be happy, Lace, after the woman he asked to marry him said yes?” he replied, talking loudly as if he wanted the whole neighborhood to hear.

From behind his shoulder, the woman put her hand to her mouth, feeling a touch more bashful. She then turned her mahogany brown eyes towards the stranger, and offered a warm smile.

“Hello, there,” she greeted, taking a step forward. “My name is Naomi. It’s a pleasure,” she said, her voice rich and kind.

Lace was dazed a bit, seeing this exquisite stranger appear, and make it seem as though the stars and planets in the sky had all been reordered.

“The name’s Lace. It’s a pleasure, Naomi. I had no idea Heath could land such a person!” she smirked, her eyes glancing over to Heath who looked ready to run ten miles and hoist three spears with the amount of adrenaline in his veins.

“Hah! Well, Heath has his persuasive side,” Naomi chimed, wrapping a hand around his back and tucking herself under his protective arm. “I am sure we will be fast friends, Lace. I hope you will visit us!”

“I’m afraid you will never be rid of me or my family’s sheep on this trail. But, thank you. I…I wish you two all the best,” Lace managed to be outright sweet, even though her wears were scattered to the wind. So this is what it felt like, then. Being awe-struck by someone and hanging onto every inch of their existence as if it were a fallen star right in your lap.

“Oh, wonderful. Do stop by and have some tea with me when you can, then.”

Heath nodded in Lace’s direction. “Lace is the best company to keep this side of the Frostbacks. Thank you for your blessing, friend. It means the world to me.”

This was going to be trouble, Lace thought to herself as she smiled back. Nothing but.

\--

This memory made itself front-and-center in Harding’s mind as she sat at a table in the tavern, surrounded by other personnel and drinkers who were busy laughing amongst themselves. She had her hand resting under her chin as she stared off into space, remembering all the times she encountered Naomi, but never actually knew or understood her. She was a kindhearted, generous anomaly. Her reputation in their village was a well-meaning one, and she was never prone to drama or fanfare. A quiet, warm, magnanimous person – surely, she couldn’t be hiding anything nefarious.

“Scout Harding,” a voice from over her shoulder rung out in happy welcome. Snapping back into reality, she turned to see none other than Veronica, the promising unofficial apprentice of Sister Nightingale herself, standing with a pint in her hand and a smile on her face.

“How rare to see you on your off time. May I join you?”

“Certainly, Veronica. If it keeps you out of trouble, I imagine the Inquisitor would be appreciative,” Harding teased, sliding down a bit on the table bench to make room for her company.

Veronica laughed, taking a seat, rugged in her posture like some rogue heroine would want to be. “Theia has more to worry about than my devious deeds. How are you? I imagine you’re itching to be back in the wilderness fending off Maker-knows-what from your heels.”

“I am ready to be back to work, though I take my breaks when I can get them.”

“Good, you deserve it.”

Veronica was clearly tipsy, for her jovial mood was almost never out to play in the broad daylight. She was too busy lurking, learning from her mentor Leliana, or out smashing some heads in, probably. She was in uncommon shape, but nonetheless pleasant to be around if you kept your wits about you.

The noises of the tavern were uproarious and congenial around them as they embarked on conversation, neither women up for small-talk.

“So, uh, I hear you and your friends have settled in quite nicely here,” Harding said as she stared down her cup, realizing that her ale was now 2/3 gone.

“Psh,” Veronica hunched over her portion of the table, setting her own cup down and folding her arms. “It feels like any day now we could be sent packing by the Commander and his lackeys, accused of being Blood Mages or something ludicrous like that. But, I think we’ve all managed to prove our worth.”

“Yeah? I thought Cullen had the hots for you?”

“He has the hots for every bad girl Mage he thinks he shouldn’t touch, but nonetheless whispers to himself that he could, if he just tried. I am too much for a first round, though.”

“That’s…” Harding nodded a few times, her brows raised, “that’s pretty realistic, actually.”

Veronica sat upright, pulling a leg up so she could hug her knee to her chest. “Besides, I have found much more…worthy company, to spend my time with. Olivia has as well, though she was more ambitious when she shot her shot.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t go lurking around the Seeker’s quarters at night if you want a quiet atmosphere, Harding.”

“Oh.”

Harding turned and faced forward, taking another hearty gulp of her ale. It seemed as though there was indeed no rest for the wicked, and Skyhold had proven to be a most fertile ground for intrigue and lust. In a strange way, it was endearing to Harding, who found it sort of funny to think of all the lofty names who walked the halls, who couldn’t keep themselves out of foolish trouble.

“And everybody in Thedas knows who Theia fancies, so, that’s hardly a topic of conversation. It seems as though Naomi wants to be the holdout,” Veronica took a swig of her drink, before flipping her hair in the way that sent all men nearby into a tizzy.

Naomi? Harding thought. She knew of only one Naomi in the fortress, and she only found that out earlier that day.

“You know Naomi?” she asked, wanting to know more.

Veronica’s brow furrowed, and she titled her head. “The better question would be do you know her?”

“I do, she was married to a man in my village. Not well, though.”

Veronica nodded, a smile forming on her lips. “I see. Naomi and I go way back, we were in the Ostwick Circle together. She and I traveled with Olivia and Theia when the Mage Rebellion broke out. She is one of my truest and dearest friends in this world.”

Harding felt the rush of intimidation overwhelm her. Of course, Naomi would be thick as thieves with one of the most renowned killer rogues in Fereldan. No wonder she never socialized much in open air in the village; she had different tastes for friendship than country families.

“What a small world this is, then,” Harding offered, setting her cup down with her hand still gripped on it.

“It is. Yet, I never run out of people to murder.”

“I bet you could, if you tried.”

“My killings are in response to malevolence, Harding. As long as there is that in this world, my job will never be done. Naomi and her kind can heal all the wounded, but my kind seek their vengeance for them.”

“Well, I’d rather come across her than you in a fight, that’s for sure.”

Veronica chuckled and rested her cheek on her upright knee, eyeing Harding whilst she looked so conflicted by something in her mind’s eye. Though, Veronica lacked the sobriety to be more emotionally intuitive, and she didn’t have much of that skill to begin with, anyway.

“I don’t know, I’d think a possessed Mage to be a more frightful enemy than one with two daggers and a bad mouth, but what do I know.”

“What?!”

“Oh, shit. Well, it’s the worst kept secret in this damn stone pile. I thought you knew, since you know her from before.”

“What are you talking about?” Harding tilted her chin, turning her shoulders towards her drinking companion now, ready for answers.

In return, Veronica let out a most unladylike belch, which made Harding blink an eye closed for protection. Once she was done, Veronica’s eyes refocused on her, and grinned knowingly.

“If you’re friends with her, you should find out for yourself. It might be pertinent information, you know, in case you’d rather not have yourself killed.”

She then rose from her seat, patting Harding on the shoulder. Grabbing her drinking cup, she unwound herself from the bench and sought out a refill for herself. Harding watched her go, the same look of concern on her face that had frozen on her since she first heard the word “possession” come out of Veronica’s mouth.

So, then, Naomi was hiding something nefarious. Could anyone in this damn fortress come to the Inquisition’s aid without a horrific, violence-inducing chip on their shoulder from somewhere?

She turned and downed the rest of her beer, feeling tired of all the nonsense. First, Naomi appears, and then she finds out there’s some peculiar shit going on with demons. It was like realizing the Inquisition was forming all over again, only this time she wished to hide under a blanket and get a break.

Rising from her chair and leaving a few coins as a tip, she saw her way out of the tavern. The night was dark and cold, but not too inconvenient with her layers of wool underneath her scout armor. It was a bit of a walk to the barracks; she made her way down the stairs to the lower courtyard, ready to make a bee line for the wooden door. Her attention was diverted, though, by the firelight dimming from the infirmary area. Usually, the tents were desolate at night while the Healers took supper and went to bed, though a guard would keep the fire alive. This time she saw a figure hugging their knees on the ground beside the firepit and pot, cloaked in a familiar grey gown.

It was Naomi, her hair down like it always was. She was reading through reports of inventory lists for the Healers, keeping busy with paperwork into the night. Her nose scrunched as she did math in her head.

Harding couldn’t help but feel like Naomi’s existence would never stop plaguing her whilst she hid her feelings or hid her desire to be closer to her. Maybe, then, she could call the universe’s bluff.

She approached her calmly, a cordial grin arising on her face when Naomi looked up and saw her.

“Scout Harding!” Naomi greeted jovially, “do you have a habit for requesting care in odd hours of the night?”

Harding stood on the other side of the fire, eyes glancing at the crackling embers. She shook her head a few times, trying to regain some sense of sophistication. The ale was not enough to leave her drunk, but it did soften the edges to her wit.

“Oh, uh, no. I was just…heading back to the barracks from the tavern. I gotta say, you don’t miss much in opting out of drinking.”

Naomi gave a cheeky grin, satisfied with herself in reaction to the compliment. “And how is my moth holding up?

“You’re what? Oh! Your hair pin…”

“Yes, what did you think I meant?”

“I wasn’t sure, but, I think that might be the ale. It’s good, it’s not bothersome at all. I just worry I may break it after you were so kind as to lend it to me.”

Naomi giggled softly, setting her small stack of papers off to the side of her legs. She then leaned back onto her hands, presenting a more casual posture. “It was a gift from Heath, for our wedding. I would think he’d want it to be used to help you,” she replied.

“See, you say that, but it doesn’t help me feel any better about it being pinned against my leg, especially a leg with a gross wound on it,” Harding grinned out the corner of her mouth.

“Don’t worry, Lace. I trust you to care for it, until tomorrow when we can get your wound redressed.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a relief.”

Naomi turned her attention to the fire, sighing lightly as she grabbed a stick to poke the embers with. Keeping the fire going was as much important to her need of light as it was keeping the area warm for the patients who had to sleep in the cots overnight. Fire was not just good for heat or light, though – it was good for the spirit, emblematic of hope. Naomi understood the value of a good fire and good company to surround it.

“Would you like to join me? I would love company,” she offered, setting her stick down once the fire had been properly stoked.

“Me? Well, I mean, yes, but isn’t it sort of late?” Harding put her hands on her hips.

Naomi shrugged. “I don’t sleep, so, I really don’t keep track. If it is too late for you, though, by all means rest!”

“Oh, uh, no, I’m fine. I can stay out for a bit longer.” Hearing that Naomi was an insomniac made her a bit more nervous about the secret she was keeping. Was that just a personality quirk, or a symptom of her condition? How could she trust Naomi to be speaking the truth when she had such a secret to hide?

Staring back at her, though, her thoughts were quieted when Naomi smiled. Dammit, she was good at that.

“Good, come, have a seat.”

\--

A few hours passed and the darkness of the night coupled with the quieting surroundings of Skyhold let the women know that it must be no more than 2-3 hours before early dawn. Where they had once sat hunched near the fire, now they laid on their backs, stargazing with blankets beneath them and wrapped around their bodies. Turns out, infirmary storage was good for more things besides housing medical emergency supplies.

Harding couldn’t believe her luck – the woman she hadn’t the courage to do more than stare at from the hillside as she tended to her garden, was now at her sides and talking about everything under the sun. It was the kind of stuff fantasies were made of. If she had the ability to dream when she slept, she was sure she would see Naomi’s face on more than one occasion.

“You must be joking,” Harding said, resisting the urge to laugh.

“No, I mean it! I actually did have it that short before.”

“It must have taken ages to grow out, then. That sounds like a nightmare.”

Naomi smirked, crossing her legs. “It took four years, but I finally got it to where I wanted it. The moral of the story is, don’t let a cute girl offer to cut your hair and think it’s to romance you. She really just needs some hair for whatever wild spell she has cooking in her pot.”

“That…wow. I gotta say, I am relieved to have that knowledge now. For a minute, I was susceptible to such a horrific crime of beauty standards.”

“Well, now you know, and you can keep that beautiful head of red hair intact!”

Harding felt the butterflies again; they had been frequent visitors to her body in the hours since she sat down on the ground beside the Healer Mage who seemed to have command of their flying patterns.

There was an ebb of quiet wherein no one spoke, and both women’s eyes gazed up at the expansive sky. It all felt limitless, especially now that there wasn’t a giant, overbearing and doom-instilling breach to look at. Harding had spent most all of her nights like this since enlisting: being out on patrol, or on guard duty, and having little to keep her entertained besides the outdoors and the stars. Now, she had the company of a most charming woman, and it was quite the romantic departure from her typical routine.

“Naomi, I,” she hesitated, feeling a mood of impulsivity, “I have to ask you something.”

“Hm? What is it?” Naomi turned her head to look at her, her head cushioned by her hair and the blanket she had rolled and tucked underneath her. She watched as Harding swallowed hard, working up the courage to dive into the subject she felt looming in the back of her mind since encountering Veronica in the tavern.

“There’s a…a rumor, that you have an issue with…demons,” Harding finally said it. She choked it out, but she said it.

There was an awkward pause where Harding didn’t want to look and make eye contact with her, but she could feel Naomi’s eyes on her. The mood of the conversation shifted from lighthearted fun to pure anxiety.

“Oh,” Naomi sighed, resting her hands on her abdomen, “I know.”

“You do?” Harding immediately responded, hungering for truth beyond all the surging questions she had in her head. “And? Is it true?”

“Yes.”

“…Then…?”

Naomi sighed. “I suppose you expect an explanation then.”

Harding bit her lip, sensing the tension in Naomi’s voice grow. Maybe she had done an unwise thing in asking. Maybe this would be the first and last time she would get the chance to do something wild with the one woman she never got to resolve her crush on.

Maybe she didn’t know how to keep a good thing going when she had it. But, demons weren’t exactly a subtle underpinning.

“Only if you’re comfortable with that. I just wanted to know the truth, since Veronica—”

“Agh, Veronica,” Naomi groaned. “I swear to the Maker, she will be the death of my good faith in humanity. That mouth of hers.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble between you and your friends.” Harding squirmed a bit, tucking the blanket she had around her in tighter.

“No, no, you did nothing wrong. I just…it’s all my fault. I should be honest with you, since you have actually taken the time to get to know me before inquiring as to what my weaknesses are.”

Naomi paused, gathering her emotional patience to undergo another recounting of her story and why she was considered such a loose cannon by everyone in the Inquisition. The reputation had followed her and laced all of her dynamics with the people around her, but she had been allowed a great kindness in being able to stay there and work. Her situation was complicated, and not always fun, but it was her own. She had to come to terms with it, before people got to take control of her narrative for her.

“Most Mages you see around here come from Circles, where they were sent as soon as their powers became public knowledge. My life was a bit different; I was an orphan by the time I was 6 years old, in Antiva. My powers started to show just a few years later, while I was living in slums undergirding the Capitol. I would beg for food along with the other children, but when we would get caught I would have fire burst from my hands. Surprisingly, Templars were never sent after me during those days. I would have been much easier to capture and neutralize as a small child. That didn’t happen until I was older, about 15. By then, I had the chance to practice enough on my own, for better or worse. I didn’t know what I was doing, dreaming in the Fade, encountering spirits. I thought it was all some wild and reckless fantasy, wherein all the rules bent to my will. I believed too heavily in my power, and I did not take the precautions I should have. My powers became embedded in my collaborations with both spirits and demons. Because of that, when I was captured and transferred to the Circle at Ostwick where the life was more temperate and secluded, the Templars wished to either kill me or make me tranquil. I would have been too powerful in combat to be contained in the Circle, they thought. But, I would have rather died than be made tranquil, so I offered myself as a Healer’s apprentice instead. I promised I would not practice my fighting skills at all, and completely dedicate myself to studies in healing and apothecary studies. They reluctantly agreed, and from then on, I stopped being a fighter. Years later, when the Rebellion happened, I took off with the Inquisitor and the others, because they needed someone to be a healer whilst they fought and cut their way through the countryside. And so, a casual friendship turned into a life-or-death dependency, and from that, a sisterhood.”

Harding laid in quiet awe, listening to Naomi still her life’s tale. She would have never known, meeting the woman Heath brought home to his family on horseback, that she had come from such adversities. She was always smiling or offering shelter in the form of good company or healing. It was then that Harding remembered advice that her mother gave to her when she was younger: sometimes the most caring people are that way because they know what it is to have no one care for them.

Naomi was a testament to that, and it saddened her heart.

“So…what brought you here, then? Did your conditions become too hard to control?”

“In a way, yes. When Heath was murdered, my susceptibility to demons flared too greatly for me to subdue myself. I was partially possessed in my emotions to seek vengeance for his death, and to gain my closure from Theia leaving us for the Conclave. You see, when Mages do not care for our emotions like we should, they become like calling cards to different demonic possessions. I was being hunted and groomed by despair and envy demons for months, ever since Theia left. Heath’s death was an insurmountable aggravation. I tracked down people who I could use to equip me for my mission, and I ran into the Inquisition forces at the Winter Palace where Veronica found me, disguised as a Venatori agent. They detained me, and Theia expelled the demons looming in my soul, waiting for me to give in. Now, I am here, under strict surveillance of course, but, here nonetheless.”

Naomi gazed absentmindedly up at the stars, her head deep in her resonating feelings from all the experiences that had accrued in her life. She did not often allow herself to sit with these emotions, but when she did, she knew she had to be careful. It was almost like she had found her own organic way of being calm, a step down from tranquil, but nevertheless a practice is self-control.

“Surveillance? So, is it kind of like you’re back in the Circle, then?”

“In a way, but I do have a lot more freedoms here than I had in Ostwick. For one, I don’t have to tell Templars to escort people whom I want to speak or spend time with in and out of my designated area. I also can roam rather freely, just with oversight.”

“And you are okay with that? I would think that’d feel kind of annoying.”

Naomi shrugged, before rolling onto her stomach. She held her chest up by her elbows and tucked the blanket over her shoulders to preserve her amassed warmth.

“I don’t know what else is possible, I’m afraid.”

“That’s fair, I guess. But, if the Inquisitor expelled the demons, doesn’t that mean you’re cured?”

That hit the nerve of Naomi’s condition: the sorry business of her life that she wished didn’t exist. It would have been grand if Theia could have simply electrocuted her and her entanglements with demons away, and she could move on with her life as if it never happened. But, such easy solutions never existed to her.

“I’m afraid not. I am a beacon to demons and spirits alike. Theia may have gotten rid of the ones that had inhabited my body, but that just makes room for more to come and try their hand at me. I am not someone who has a long, peaceful life ahead of them, Lace. I am…I’m quite frankly doomed.”

“Wait, wait just a minute,” Harding lurched up, sitting upright and shedding the blanket off of her shoulders and chest. “You’re saying you’re going to die soon?” Her eyes were narrowed under her lowered brow.

Naomi remained still, watching Harding get all bothered, it made her feel sorry for ever uncovering the truth.

“There is no definite timespan, but, I am constantly vulnerable to possession at any given time if I am not careful. So, it could happen tomorrow, it could happen five years from now. I don’t have the control over the situation like I wish I did.”

“There’s nothing you can do? No spell, no precautions…?”

“You’ve seen what demons are like out in the field, Lace. Imagine how insufferable they are if they could get into your head and heart. I have made my bed, and I must lay in it.”

Harding smirked without humor, turning her shoulders to face Naomi’s perceived ambivalence fully. She couldn’t understand why this was all such a casual topic of discussion for her, as if she had just mentioned the weather or the number of horses in the stables.

“I…I don’t know…what…” she struggled, feeling the energy in her chest hollow out when she saw Naomi’s face, beautifully lit by the firelight. It was the face of a gorgeously doomed woman.

“Lace, it’s alright,” Naomi said softly. She, too, rose to sit upright, curling her legs together as she sat on one hip, anchoring her weight with one arm. “No one lives forever, really. I am where I should be, with my friends, my allies, doing something worthwhile. Not everyone gets to experience their demise in such a place.”

“Yes, but, but…!”

“I know, but, is there any real use in fretting over what we cannot change?”

Harding held her breath, taking in Naomi’s words. She then huffed, releasing the tension in her posture again, trying to regain some sense of reasonableness. It was hard, feeling like you were the only one who was understandably alarmed at the brevity of a situation.

Eventually, both women turned to face the fire, collecting the conversation. Harding wanted to say so much, but she felt at a loss for it all: what was the point, now, in troubling Naomi’s life with feelings and sentimentalities when she clearly had more to worry about? But, then, if she died and Harding never got the chance to tell the truth?

What was the right way to go about this? She wondered if it could be written in a manual somewhere: A Guide on How to Express Feelings for a Mage Doomed to Demonic Possession For Beginners.

Watching Naomi hug her knees, Harding wished such ridiculous things existed.

“Naomi. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I know we just saw each other for the first time in months today, but…I don’t want you to feel alone.”

“Oh, Lace. Thank you. I feel anything but alone. I have Theia, Veronica, Olivia, and their allies. I suppose now, I also have you. I am quite content.”

Harding’s heart skipped a beat. Her mind pictured again the woman who she first met on the road in front of the Mason’s farm – the one who was endlessly polite, smiling because she had found someone to love her for all of who she was. A woman who was ready to live a joyous life, no matter how short it was supposed to be. She had found the place where she was going to die, and who she would die in the arms of. Her happiness was relief in finding her final resting place.

The truth colored the memories with a most heartbreaking shade of sorrow she had ever known.

“Yes, you do,” she replied cordially, to hide the emphatic emotion that stirred within her as she made her promise.


	3. Baked Goods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after their late-night talk, Lace visits Naomi in the fortress kitchens in order to acquire her promised bread before departing. Proving to be more lighthearted company in the morning hustle than the night before, Naomi agrees to a humble request by the Scout. Riding on the high, Lace forgets an important detail, proving she may not be detaching from her feelings like she ought to.

Within an hour after Naomi’s confession was realized, Lace compelled herself to retire. Given that she was meant to be dispatched the following day, and had only returned to Skyhold to oversee a personnel shift and to get her injury tended to, rest was a luxury not to be passed on. Though, it did make her heart ache to leave Naomi out in the cold, early morning air, to supervise the infirmary overnight.

Once the sun took hold of the sky, she was sure to do good on her word she had given to her back in the healer’s tent. After arming herself for the road, and checking reports sent on from Leliana’s office and the Commander’s as well, she snuck her way to the fortress kitchens in the hopes of catching Naomi on her “off-time” activity. Meandering down the dimly-lit hall that traveled below the floor of the Great Hall, she passed servants and assistants carrying anything from produce to warm meals on fine china. Such was the versatility of the Skyhold menu.

Finally, she found the last set of shallow steps and the entryway into the kitchen, the long wooden tables lined with an overabundance of edible foods ready to be prepped and cooked with. The fireplace was broad and tall, leaving ample room for pots and pans to be hung above it. Then there was the clay oven, wherein a couple people were busy sliding out fresh loaves of bread. Their faces were powdered unevenly from flour and spices, aprons just as messy as their complexions. Lace found the busy scene of bodies going back and forth, some kneading dough on flat, floured surfaces, others sliding fresh fruit, to be wholesome. It reminded her of the heart of what the Inquisition was -- its people and their dedication to the goodness in the world.

A soft grin rested on her lips as she scanned the room, until she eventually locked on the back of a bronze-skinned woman with enough black, curly hair to amass a tall top bun on her head. Her rolling shoulders clued Lace into her activity, kneading dough alongside another woman. They were exchanging warm glances, and from what she could see, Naomi was smiling gleefully as she made small-talk. There was something measured and graceful in her demeanor, even in the most simplest of activities, that Lace was all-too-easily caught up in. In that moment, watching as a few trace curls swung in the air around her face as she methodically worked the bread dough, for once she was no longer desiring to be off and on the road.

At last, though, she garnered the gumption to approach her. When she was but a couple yards away, Naomi’s eye caught on her presence, and she offered the sweet smile to her that she had been making to her kitchen companion.

“Scout Harding!” she teased, “you couldn’t manage to stay away from my baked goods, I see.”

Hearing the humor in her mood, Lace chuckled, secretly relieved that the melancholy night had not tainted the morning daylight.

“I didn’t even try, I’m afraid,” she replied, before she stepped up onto a footstool, using it as a step-up to sit on the corner edge of the long table. With her wide seat, she placed her hands on her lap, elbows turned outwards, the posture of an aching outdoorswoman under her armor.

Naomi wiped her head with the back of her forearm, maintaining the cheerful nature of her expression as she then plopped the pound of dough into a nearby resting iron pot.

“You are lucky this is my second batch. My first is cooling on the rack over there. The spiced wheat is for you, just as I promised.” She placed the lid onto the pot, before her hand went to its handle. She rushed over, yelling “behind you!” to everyone as she went behind them, heading for the fire. Hooking the handle onto the rod across the inner chamber, she dusted off her hands, a satisfied sigh coming from her lips. A moment of sweet contentedness, before her focus shifted to gathering the gift she so tenderly made in the early morning for her awaiting company.

Naomi reached onto another side table, and as Lace peered over to watch her with curiosity, she saw it was a small linen rag she was after. She then used it as a wrap-up for the bread loaf she was grabbing from the cooling shelf, enclosing the fresh, still-warm body if it in the center of the cloth. Her hands seemed to have just as much care and intention behind them when handling baked goods as when they did gross injuries.

Upon her return, she held out the wrapped, modest gift, her arms extended straight out in front of her.

“Take care with it, it is surely worth its weight in gold,” she chimed as Lace took it into her own hands.

Lace, smiling her trademark crooked smile, held it between her hand and her left thigh. “I wouldn’t dream of letting anything happen to it. My men will be jealous.”

“I imagine,” Naomi placed a hand on the table, and the other on her hip. “First, you have a pretty wound decoration, and now custom-baked bread from the kitchens? Who needs a promotion when you have that?”

“Absolutely nothing. In fact, I think I’m only a few steps from an early retirement.”

Naomi giggled lightly and shook her head, showing the traces of flour that were still stuck on her cheeks. “Always the ambitious one, Lace. Well, I wish you good luck and safe travels, then. I am sure they are awaiting your fierce leadership out there,” she leaned off of the table, then, and grabbed for another, larger rag to wipe her hands off with. “Do take care of yourself. You are precious cargo.”

Lace felt heat in her face simmer, then. In that moment, she felt the urge to nod, hop down off the table, and see her way out. After all, Naomi had said her farewells, why trifle with anything else? It took her a moment, and a breath, to rejoin the conversation just a bit longer. Though, she was trying to find a reason that would make sense for why she would hang around.

“Well, I, uh, hope you’ll do the same, Naomi.”

Naomi chuckled facing her worktable, dusting off the old flour lightly with her rag. “Yes, it is quite perilous here, isn’t it? Being watched and taken care of.”

“You never know. Someone could entice you into wanting adventure,” Lace replied.

“Hah! And who would be so interested as to go to all the trouble?”

“Oh, I don’t know. For bread like this, I’d get myself into a pickle or two.” Lace’s boldness overriding her nerves. There was a pause, and Lace noticed that Naomi had slowed down her activity. Her hand still wiped in a small circle, but her shoulders and neck stiffened. She worried if she had somehow said something out of line, even in a sentence as short as that one.

Naomi peered over her shoulder a bit, her brow raised. “Tell me, did you admit to such weaknesses when they vetted you to become Lieutenant?”

Lace chuckled, trying her hardest to smooth over and act upon the humor. “Not at all, but, I mean, do you see the kind of hang-ups the other allies have? Mine has got to be the most benign.”

Naomi’s throat stiffened as she folded her rag in a humble square against her stomach. “There is no such thing as benign trouble, Lace. Believe me,” she replied, a slight ache in her words. Not to let the air be dampened by her mood, she set the rag down on the wood and turned around, leaning back onto the edge of the table and clamping her hands down on it.

Lace swallowed her pride and her spit. “Trouble or not, I was wondering, kind of impulsively, actually...would you be alright if I wrote you?”

In return, Naomi tilted her head to the side, one of her thick and beautiful brows furrowed. “To me? You think me that interesting and worthy?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you are the only person here who knows me from home. I thought it would be nice to, uh,” she rubbed the back of her head, feeling the tight braids start to frizz a bit, “I don’t know. Maybe you’d like having someone to write to who you didn’t meet in a time of overt violence and apocalyptic uncertainty?”

Naomi smirked, slightly endeared by Lace’s way with words. “You’re very funny, Lace. Just when I think I have you figured out, you throw in a twist.”

“Well, that’s kind of like your spice bread, huh?” Lace wanted to kick herself as she said her reply, feeling the overwhelming dread of embarrassment for her corny retort.

Naomi’s lips parted, and she smiled broad. “You come up with that one all on your own?”

“Yes, can’t you tell?” Lace groaned a bit.

“If it means that much to you that you would expose yourself for the corny sense of humor you have, I will oblige. I must warn you, though, I am not the most illustrious writer,” Naomi shook her head a bit.

“I don’t mind. I’m no poet, either. Just...I’ll write you, first, to let you know when I’ve arrived at my station. No use writing to someone when you don’t know where they are.”

“Indeed, and from what I hear, that can change by the hour for Inquisition people.”

“You have no idea.” Lace rolled her eyes and smirked, leaning forward a bit in her seat. Her candor made Naomi smile again, and at that point, she felt like she had accomplished the ultimate victory, and that her withdrawal would finalize its truth.

“Well, I’ll stop bothering you and be off, then. Thanks again, Naomi,” she hopped down from the table, stepping a bit closer to her. “I won’t forget this kindness.”

Naomi gathered her hands in front of her waist, her thumbs twiddling together as she gazed at her. “No problem at all, Lace. It is always a pleasure to do work for those who would strive to appreciate it. Do be safe.”

“I will -- or, at least, I’ll try. We both know I’m not infallible,” she leaned onto the hip connected to her injured leg.

Naomi laughed a bit, then, her hand resting under her jawline. “No, not at all, but you are sturdy and stubborn. Now, get on going now, I won’t have the Inquisition waiting on my good manners.”

Lace offered a smile, and nodded her a farewell. Holding the loaf to her side, she saw her way out, wanting so badly to turn around and make eye contact with her again, but resisting. Well, she did, until she got to the doorway she had entered in from. Once she felt that enough space and bodies were between them, Lace turned and peered over her shoulder one final time. Then, her breath halted. Naomi hadn’t returned to her activities; rather, she had simply stayed where she had been, leaned against the work table. She had folded her arms, softly cradling them against her chest. Her gaze was off to the left corner, her eyes slightly colder now than they had been when Lace was talking with her. Her smile had vanished, replaced by a simple frown. She looked to be longing, her chest hollowed as her shoulders slouched forward a bit. The statuesque nature of her features, her angular jawline, her rounded brows and broad nose. Her wreath of curls around her head. She was a most nourishing, ghostly figure.

This image became seared into Lace’s mind. It haunted her as she gathered her other senses and made her way out of the kitchen, back up the stairs and hallway. When she entered into the open air, and the warm daylight. When she found her men, and saw them standing around the supply wagon, looking peeved but not willing to let it show to her as an authority. Surrounded by fellow Scouts and troops, her exterior hardened, and she found her way to the wagon bench and hopped up on the wheel onto the platform. Sitting heavily down beside the Scout with the driving reigns, she sighed.

“Alright, let’s head out,” she muttered, adjusting the sleeves to her armor, resting the loaf in between her legs on her seat.

“Yes, ser,” the Scout nodded immediately, and shook the reigns to provoke the horses to get on.

Being jerked forward by the inertia, the loaf slid and fell onto the wood beneath her feet. Her heart skipped a beat as the risk of losing such a gift became real, even as she had swore that she would guard it with everything she could. Just as the bread was about to roll out of the cloth, she snatched it up, reclaiming it for her own and no one else’s. She let out a huff of relief, gripping it between both hands like a sandwich, before she hastily re-wrapped it in the linen. As she remained lurched forward, she felt a poke against her skin on her thigh, near the wound she had dressed by Naomi.

She stilled herself, wondering what would possibly prod her uncomfortably in the armor she wore day in and day out.

“Oh, shit!” she said aloud.

Of all the things she could have possibly forgotten, she forgot to return the glass moth hair comb to Naomi. She had seen her, been face-to-face with her, and not remembered. What was a temporary loan suddenly felt like a boon.

Eagerly, she turned around to see how far they had gotten. Already across the entrance bridge, Skyhold’s courtyard was a dismal point in the horizon. She held her breath as the Scout driving the wagon turned to look at her.

“What is it, Ser?” he asked, balancing the reigns in both his hands.

“Oh, I…” suddenly, she became self-conscious. Nothing would feel more aggravating than having to tell her crew to turn around and rush back because the woman who healed her left her with a keepsake as a bandage clip, and she must now go promptly undress herself and recover it because dammit, it was her wedding gift from her murdered husband.

“I thought...I thought I forgot something. No need to worry, Cedric,” she replied, returning to sit squarely on her half of the bench. Looking ahead and feeling guilty of theft, she had a hard time breathing. What if she lost it, or it got destroyed? Would she forgive herself for such a crime? And what in the Maker’s ass would she do with it in the meantime, put it in her hair for the men to snicker at when she walked by?

Whilst she deliberated all this, deep down, Lace’s heart was a little more giddy. Having something of hers, even if it wasn’t exactly given with the intent of being brought with her on her travels, proved a more potent thing than she anticipated.

That being said, she knew what would have to be the topic of her first letter to her.


End file.
